


The Edge of Nothing

by Human_Trash_101



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Additional Weapons, Angst, Blood, Burning, Character Paralysis, Character disease, Explosions, Fire, Gang AU, Gangs, Gore, Guns, I probably did, If I missed anything, Knives, M/M, Swearing, Violence, please tell me, potential Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-07-21 22:00:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7406722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Human_Trash_101/pseuds/Human_Trash_101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scotty and his gang built themselves an empire throughout the years. Assassinations, busting illegal services, robbing corrupted banks, they only did the jobs they found fair. Finding every way to only hurt the corrupt and malicious, the gang made sure civilians would never get caught up in their mess. They ran a strict business, always kept to the plan, and never fell behind on schedule. Everything was perfect, the crime in the city was shrinking smaller and smaller, but that also meant the surviving crime leaders were continuing were getting smarter and more creative with their crimes. The gang continued to adapt and brought down the businesses, but more appeared, it was just how the city worked. Scotty shoved strange feelings aside and attend his usual routine. Everything was neat and orderly, until the gang received a message that changed the entire game.</p><p>Also discontinued bc I'm a piece of shit that can't commit herself to anything :/</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rude Awakening

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caora/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Humble Beginnings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3525344) by [Caora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caora/pseuds/Caora). 



Scotty’s slender fingers lightly tapped the keys of his laptop as numbers and letters continued to scroll past his eyes alarmingly fast. The bright emerald of the seemingly random symbols reflected his cerulean eyes. He squinted as some more complex coding rolled onto his screen. The house was dead quiet with the exception of the soft clicking of keys being pressed. Scotty desperately wanted to stretch his legs and back after hours of sitting in the same position, and the worn couch under him felt as if it had grown claws hours ago, but he suppressed his urges due to fear of missing any important coding. Just when he thought he may punch a hole in his laptop, unfamiliar windows replaced the black and green that had tormented his eyes for the majority of the night. A relieved sigh escaped his lips and he allowed the edges of his mouth to twitch up into a slight grin. He could feel all the anxiety release itself in the sigh as it exited his lungs. He sunk back into the worn couch and stretched his legs out onto the coffee table where his computer was currently residing.

  
Casually, Scotty straightened his back and raised his arms above his head, cracking his joints after a long period of barely moving. His cream shirt rose a bit, revealing the smooth skin of his pale stomach before returning to its rightful place. Running a slim hand through his unkempt hair, he pushed himself up and trotted back towards the kitchen at the back of the base. His bare feet padded against the cold tile of the kitchen’s floor, a contrast from the wooden floor of the living area. His large pajama pants hung loosely on his hips and spilled over to cover part of his feet. The carmine and white of his pants complimented his shirt when, for once in his life, he wasn’t trying to coordinate his outfit.

  
Scotty lifted a delicate finger to the side of the party filled coffee machine, and pulled away once he determined the drink was still warm enough to enjoy. He let another sigh out, this one of annoyance, and climbed onto the counter to snag a coffee cup out of the cabinets, cursing Tyler for placing them so high. Scotty was not short in any sense, the problem was that Tyler was a six foot six monster of a person who insisted on placing the mugs on the top shelf whenever he visited and cleaned the dishes. His large build helped him reach the top shelf easily while Scotty could only reach if he were to climb atop the pearl countertop. Part of Scotty thought that Marcel told Tyler to do it on purpose, so he could watch his best friend climb on a counter like a four year old whenever he wanted something warm to drink. Obviously, this usually ended with Marcel snickering as he watched Scotty try to reach a handle of any mug. Another part of him believed that it was just a habit from living alone before they started their gang. For the sake of their friendship, he always decided it was the latter.

  
Scotty brought his mug to his lips, steam curled around his cheekbones when he took a swig of the coffee. He placed the mug back on the counter and gazed out the window, finally noticing the silence that infected their base. He was so used to the antics of their gang that he thought he had forgotten what silence sounded like. Vaguely remembering some words thrown at him about a job that evening, Scotty searched his mind for clues about his friends whereabouts.

  
He assume Evan was initialing the plan as usual with Jonathan by his side for backup while Lui and Daithi climbed to a tall building with a clear view for sniping if necessary. Daithi would set up camp behind Lui to provide safety and make sure no one could sneak up on him. Tyler and Craig would wait at the escape routes if their targets tried make a run for it, and Brian waited in the driver's seat of their SUV with Brock in the back incase of an emergency escape. Marcel and him would lure their target to their desired place with Scotty’s social skills and Marcel’s brute force, but Scotty opted to stay behind on this mission to hack into a database and collect important information for their next heist. He assumed that Marcel would be beside Evan to act as a second line of defence while Delirious took over Scotty’s role, much to Evan’s dismay. He almost laughed aloud. He had been apart of their gang so that he could map out parts of their movements without even being involved.

  
“Five years have flown by real damn fast, haven’t they?” Scotty thought with a slight grin gracing his features. They had gone from casual friends to rookie gang members living under one roof to professionals who roomed with another member of the gang over. Lui and Nogla were the first to move into their own apartment once they gained enough money to do so because Nogla complained that he didn’t have enough quiet to practice his music, and Lui would follow his friend to the edge of the earth if he asked. Craig and Tyler quickly followed, then Marcel, Scotty, and Brock. Brock then ended up rooming with Brian when he found a place for himself a little closer to the edge of the city, a significantly calmer area. Evan and Jonathan had resided where they began, in the same base they planned their operations. Scotty winced at the memory of stitching up his friends countless times in that apartment; himself and Brock became the designated medics of the group—hell—they even took medical school courses once they had enough money to ensure their friends don’t die.

  
Mere seconds after Scotty released his tight grip on the mug, his door was nearly thrown off of its hinges as two figured burled in with eight more it tow. He nearly reached for the gun hidden in the drawer beside him, but paused his actions once he heard a familiar groan and Tyler’s screaming,

  
“ _Fuck_! Scotty, where’s your med kit?!”

  
The culprits of the sudden noises stumbled through the doorway towards the back of the apartment. Once Scotty caught sight of Marcel, his chest felt like caving in on itself, seeing how Marcel’s arm was slung over Tyler’s shoulder as he practically dragged him through their house. Marcel's shirt was torn diagonal from his belly button, but thick crimson clocked the skin surrounding it. Instantly, Scotty rushed to their spare room which was used as a makeshift hospital. His stomach dropped to the floor when he saw the bloody hands covering the wound and the person the hand belonged to. Marcel’s white shirt was smeared with crimson, his eyes were squinted shut in attempted to hide his immense pain. Scotty could felt the constriction in his chest and stomach worsen as Marcel lightly groaned when his hands were pried away from his stomach so Scotty could attempt to stop the blood with a towel. Brock ushered everyone except Tyler, Scotty, and himself out of the room. Scotty flipped into his medical persona immediately, snapping questions about the injury.

  
“What inflicted it?” he demanded in a deadly serious tone as be began to prep Marcel for procedure.

  
“Gun,” Tyler replied shakily.

  
“Type?”

  
“Some sort of pistol,”

  
“Bullet or shrapnel?”

  
“Could be either, I-I don’t know?”

  
Tyler was obviously shaken up by Marcel’s injury. It had been months since someone from their gang had been severely injured, but now Marcel was phasing in and out of consciousness. Scotty pulled on a surgical mask and motioned for Tyler and Brock to hold Marcel down. A sickening metal stench infested his nose, nearly driving him to close his eyes in disgust. His eyes trailed over his best friend who lay on a makeshift gurney in his _own home_. He was obviously in pain as Scotty dabbed his wound with damp rag, biting into his lips to muffle his sounds of agony. Unable to move any quicker, he whispered words of reassurance to his friend as he continued to clean his injury. Scotty sucked in a muffled breathe before snatching a pair of tweezers and began to dig into the flesh of his best friend.

 


	2. News

Scotty wiped the back of his hand against his forehead, attempting to rid it of the sweat forming there. His body ached for him to stop for he had been working on the seemingly comatose body in front of him for countless hours. The melodic beeping of the body’s heart monitor had buried itself into Scotty’s ears. It had been attached to Marcel, courtesy of Brock, early on in the procedure. The song of simplicity kept Scotty on his toes while his hands frantically shot around, following their routine. His arms ached and his hands were lightly shaking as he continued to work on saving Marcel. Eyelids dragging towards the floor, Scotty sighed. It had no doubt been too many hours since Marcel had been brought in, but bullet removal was a tricky process. His immediate survival rate for being shot in his gut was high, but the wound was extremely prone to infection if not taken care of properly. He had spent far too many hours digging into his best friend’s flesh in attempt to find the bullet without him bleeding to death.

  
Scotty’s heart skipped a beat when his tweezers brush against something solid while submerged in Marcel’s lower abdomen. He placed a light hand on Marcel’s side before drawing his head closer to the wound in attempt to catch a better look at what he had hit. When the light caught on the object he touched, Scotty let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His mind immediately relaxed once he realized he did not just brush Marcel’s backbone, but rather, the bullet. Lightly gripping his tweezers, he grasped the metal and began to withdraw. Once he removed the bullet from his gut, he nudged Brock who was sleeping in a chair beside him. He lightly dropped the bullet onto the tray and motioned for him to analyse it in another room. He needed to know if it was poisoned, because if so, Marcel was closer to death than he thought.

  
With that thought, Scotty began to slow the bleeding which had begun again. He still thought about it while he was stitching Marcel’s insides back together, while he was stitching the skin, and while he was wrapping the wound. It plagued his mind as he slid into the chair beside him, infested his head as he ran his hand through his hair. It was the last thought he had when he placed his head beside Marcel’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. It was a little chime that added to the sweet song of the heart monitor. Together they created a lullaby that lured Scotty to sleep.

_ _ _

Meanwhile, the rest of the boys lay in the lounge, either sleeping or questioning Scotty’s mental state. While the boys had taken shifts helping patch up Marcel, Scotty had been working around the clock. It had been nearly two days of pure struggle to keep Marcel alive, no breaks for anything humane. Jonathan, Nogla, Lui, and Craig lie passed out on the worn furniture scattered around the lounge. They had taken their shifts the first couple hours back when Marcel’s life saving equipment hadn't been fully set up yet, when the only thing attached was his heart monitor. After the constant fretting about finding the rest of the materials while keeping their friend alive, they deserved their hard earned rest.

  
Out of the remaining few awake, Evan was the first to speak up, “I’m worried Scotty is going to work himself to _death_ , he hasn’t slept since he started and I don’t thinks he’s eaten anything either.”

  
There was a look of agreement between them, realizing that their friends was in the situation they feared he would be. Evan sighed heavily before rubbing his eyes harshly with the palms of his hands. Brian opened his mouth to add something but quickly shut it when Brock spoke barely above a whisper. “Oh shit,” he nudged Brian and motioned him towards him where he was inspecting the bullet, “ _fuck_ dude, what is this?”

  
This caught the rest of the boys attention, drawing them to surround the table where a now dented bullet lay. Brock had wedged a pair of tweezers between one part of the shell while another pair was prying it open. With a light pop the metal pieces sprung away from its counterpart. A small plastic bag peaked out one half of the shell, catching the attention of the boys. Brock lifted it from it’s metal casing and held it in the palm of his gloved hand. Inside was a small roll of parchment, skin curled around itself to cover a secret. The boys exchanged glances of confusion, the bullet wasn’t filled with poison, but _why would there be protected paper in a bullet which had been buried in one of their earliest members_? Cautiously, Brock peeled the ziplock bag open and drew the paper out into his hand. It was barely a third the size of his palm while rolled up like it was. Once his had unrolled the paper, the words scrawled upon it confused the boys even more.

_ _ _

Scotty drifted awake by the soft feeling of something combing through his hair. The gentle feeling calmed his heart, lessening the weight buried in his chest. His mind ached while his muscles felt cramped—but this— this helped relieved the pain. The soft motions untangled his strands of unkempt hair. It was a soothing motion, leaving him disconnected from reality as he drifted between the states of conscious and unconscious. He could feel himself losing control over his actions, but couldn’t bring himself to care. His mind was left nearly blank as all he could focus on was the warmth enlaced in his hair, slowly spreading it around his skull, letting it seep farther into his head.

  
A deep breath snaked its way into his lungs, grasping onto every worry, every fear, every dread, and tore it away from him. It left a gaping gash in his chest, left his bones hollow, but the warmth which had already spread into his mind began to fill the holes. The feeling spread throughout his bones, wrapping itself around every muscle and filling every bone. A slight smile twitched his lips upwards as the comfort surrounded his aching body. A hum of approval trickled out of his pale lips, the vibration from his chest echoed in his ears. The soothing feeling slowly lured him back into a heavy slumber.

  
When Scotty awoke once again, the warm feeling was resting in one spot on the back of his head. His eyes fluttered open, eyelashes brushing the unclothed chest under his cheek. His arms were loosely draped over Marcel’s torso, arms crossed slightly to fit on his chest. Gently, Scotty pulled himself away from his chest, trying his hardest not to wake his slumbering friend. While detaching himself from him, the source of heat slipped away from the back of his head and revealed itself to be Marcel’s hand. It fell limply back onto his own chest, rising and falling casually with his breaths. Scotty’s eyes trailed over his body, seeing how his chest moved to a silent rhythm. He notice how Marcel’s muscles were relaxed completely for once in his life since they had started the gang. His shoulder were relaxed and Scotty didn’t know if he had ever seen them without any tension. Regardless of what he had seen until now, he mused at how much younger he looked. Without the stress of being shot or seeing a friend get shot, Marcel could look like any other typical grad student.

  
Scotty’s eyes shifted to Marcel’s face, settling upon his calm features. His eyes flickered behind his eyelids, masking the caramel color he had come to adore. His lips were slightly parted allowing his deeps breathes to slip in and out of his lungs. After a moment of studying, Scotty tore his gaze away from him. A light blush dusted his cheeks as he caught sight of the blanket that had been placed around his shoulders. Marcel was obviously in no state to have gone to the lounge and placed it on him, so one of the other boys _must_ have draped it over him while he slept.

  
Scotty thoughts drifted towards the rest of his friends who were oddly quiet. A quick check to the clock fueled his curiosity because, even at this hour, they _wouldn’t_ be this quiet. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he pushed himself out of the chair beside Marcel. The blanket dropped to the floor behind him as he lifted himself up to his full height. His eyes were stuck to Marcel once more as he fixed his gaze upon his breathing, mesmerized by the light song it sung. He shoved the thought to the back of his mind as he turned away to find the rest of his friends.

_ _ _

Scotty’s feet pattered across the floor, echoing as he searched for his friends. Carefully, he nudged the living room door open. His eyes swept across the lounging area, falling on the bodies draped over the furniture. The moonlight lightly outlined their silhouettes, rising and falling with each breath they took. Blankets were tossed messily on top of them, a small gesture of care from a mystery member of the crew. Scotty thought back to the blanket that had been placed over his own shoulders while he slept earlier, but quickly brought his focus back to finding his remaining friends. Gingerly, he stepped around his slumbering friends and caught sight of the light which had crawled around the corner from it’s source. He continued his journey to the source of light, the kitchen.

  
Placing a pale hand against the ajar door, Scotty gently pushed it open. He slipped inside the kitchen just to be blinded by the light, masking everything from his sight. Blinking rapidly, his eyes slowly adjusted to the room around him. He first spied Evan who held a steaming cup of what he assumed was coffee. Beside him stood Brian, staring absently at an empty mug between his palms. Tyler sat behind them at the small wooden table, face twisted in confusion. Evan met Scotty’s eyes first, acknowledging him with slight nod. Brian glanced up to meet his gaze next, smiling slightly as a hello, who was then followed by Tyler.

  
“Crew meeting in 5,” Evan’s stern voice broke the silence even though he still kept it low not to disturb the sleeping crew in the next room. He lightly placed his mug down in the sink, dumping out the contents, before he stepped through the doors to wake his remaining crew member.

  
“ _Really_? Come on, why do we have to start now that Scot-” Brian started, but was quickly cut off by Tyler.

  
“Shut it Brian, you know exactly why we are starting now. This is as big as it can get and Scotty needed sleep. Now close your mouth and head to Marcel’s room, or hospital, or whatever you want to call it.”

  
Scotty was startled by Tyler’s unusually serious tone, his voice had cut through Brian’s remark with no hint of his usual joking personality. His worry only escalated when Tyler harshly pushed himself away from the table and out of the kitchen door. Tyler wasn’t the most lighthearted of the gang, but he surely wasn’t cynical. Brian and Scotty shared a quick glance of concern before quickly trailing after him into the lounge.

  
Tyler trudged straight to Craig’s sleeping form and kneeled beside him. He let his hand fall on his shoulder and lightly shook him, trying to wake him. Scotty guessed he should do the same and shuffled over to Daithi and Lui. He passed Jonathan, who had a light grip on Evan’s forearm, whispering to him in a tired tone. Scotty couldn’t make out their conversation as he maneuvered himself passed them to wake his friends. Nudging Daithi, Scotty tried desperately to wake him. He really did not want to be the one to wake Lui again because of what had happened last time. To put it simply, he was pinned to the ground in a death grip while Tyler had to rip Lui off him. Whether it was a reaction to being woken after being in multiple gangs, or if it was simply out of pure aggravation, Scotty didn’t know. Lui was clearly not a morning person, and he certainly did not enjoy losing his sleep.

  
“Daithi, you fuck, get up,” Scotty hissed, fearing he would wake Lui. “Come on, team meeting in Marcel’s.” He was only met with a groan and something he couldn’t understand before Daithi pushed himself up to a sitting position. “Good, I’m not waking him again, last time he pinned me to the floor,” Scotty motioned to Lui before standing up and head towards the room. He could faintly hear Daithi whispering something to Lui before he rounded the corner and found himself in the makeshift hospital once again.

  
Scotty patted into Marcel’s temporary room and sat in the armchair directly beside him where he had slept just minutes before. Marcel laid on his back with his head turned to face the wall behind Craig, arms draped over his chest from when he slipped out of his loose grip. Although Marcel’s hair was cut short, it still managed to be tousled and dirty, but Scotty couldn't stop himself from running a hand through his hair. Stopping just as soon as he started, he removed his hand and placed it on his shoulder instead. Lightly, he shook his shoulder, attempting to rouse him.

  
“Marcel... _Marcel_ , come on. Wake up, we have a meeting in a minute,” Scotty whispered to him. He began to stir, his eyes sluggishly moved to meet Scotty’s eyes. Scotty couldn’t help but let a smile tug at the corners of his lips, eyes crinkling up in the process. It seemed his smile was infectious because soon Marcel’s face was graced with a slight grin as well. Scotty broke the small silence, “How you feeling fuck boy?”

  
“Like I’ve been shot,” Marcel responded sarcastically, “How’d you _think_ I was gonna feel?” His voice was low and raspy, evidently strained. Scotty handed him a glass of water that had been placed on the bedside table next to him the night before. It was kind of gross, but it was better than nothing.

  
“Glad to see that you lost nearly 15% of the blood in your body, but somehow, you still kept that snark. What a _shame_ that would have been.” Marcel couldn’t help but laugh. Scotty was relieved that he was doing well enough to exchange the banter they usually do.

  
“But seriously, the meeting is happening, like now. Before you ask, I have no clue what’s it about,” Scotty kept his voice low and watched carefully as Marcel tried to push himself up to a seated position. His arms were shaking and he winced as he put too much strain on his wound. Scotty wrapped an arm around his waist and shoulder to help him up, gently pulling Marcel up to an upright position.

  
He barely caught Marcel’s soft _thank you_ under his breath before Evan waltzed into the room with Jonathan in tow. Jonathan was still wiping the sleep from his eyes as he leaned against the wall. He was obviously tired, then it occurred to Scotty that he was probably the closest to Marcel when he was shot, meaning he had to have reacted the quickest. Getting Marcel out of the situation—while wounded—without getting himself shot _must_ have been taxing on his body and mind. The others began to trickle into the room in their respective pairs.  
A harsh shadow was cast upon Evan’s face as he stepped forwards, directing the attention of the room to him. His hand was balled at his side and there were clear bags under his eyes. His hair looked as if he had run his hand through it a thousand times, voice raspy as he spoke.

  
“I’ll brief over what has happened in the last half week because nearly no one has the full story. Basically, Marcel was shot during a job. From the look of the bullet, a sniper hit him in the gut. The problem is none of us know where the sniper was, how they _slipped_ under our radar, _shot_ one of our members, delivers a _message_ , and left without a trace. Lui and Nogla reported that nothing was visible from the rooftops, and none of our ground patrol found them anywhere.”

  
Scotty, Marcel, and Jonathan shared a look of confusion when the message was mentioned. No one had spoken to them about it, what it said, or how it was delivered.

  
“When Scotty sent Brock to inspect the bullet, he found this. I think it was the first and last time I will ever hear him swear that much,” Evan unraveled his hand and placed a small slip of paper on the wooden table in front of him. It was small and slightly crinkled with a dash of cursive scrawled upon the center. All of them bent forwards to read what was carefully written across the milky parchment. The moment Jonathan and Scotty’s eyes scanned the paper, they snapped up to meet each other. All the blood had drained from their faces, eyes overflowing with fear.

  
“Bathroom—”

  
“Sink—”

  
In the blink of an eye, Scotty was sprinting out the bedroom door towards the kitchen sink. His hand was brought up to cover his mouth before he hunched over the metal side and emptied his guts. One hand was placed by the faucet to support his weight while the other wrapped around his gut. His stomach acid burned his throat, the taste burned his tongue. He assumed Jonathan was doing the same in the bathroom. A hand drew soft circles on his back as he spit out the last of whatever he had eaten in the past two days. Turning to meet the hand, Marcel stood beside him, clutching his stomach slightly. Scotty wrapped a hand around his arm and lightly nudged him towards the couch back in the living room.

  
“Don’t do that again, you could rip the stitches. You’ll hurt yourself beyond that of your pride next time,” Scotty muttered before softly pressing Marcel down to a sitting position before standing himself up again. He stumbled into the kitchen and grabbed his coffee mug from a couple nights before, left untouched since the incident. Dumping it’s forgotten contents into the sink, he filled it with water while cleaning the metal sink of his vomit as well. He swished the water around in his mouth and spit into the sink before he sipped the glass of water. When he turned, he was faced with half of his crew staring at him. Sighing, he took a swig of water and washed his mouth out again before thinking of how to explain his actions.

  
All Marcel could do was watch as his best friend’s face was twisted into dread; he _desperately_ wanted to know what was going inside that head of his. He needed to know what was causing his best friend so much pain, so much distress. The now crumpled paper lay in the palm of his hands, what he guessed was the root of Scotty’s horror. Tearing through possibilities in his head, Marcel hopelessly tried to find what it could have been connected to. He glanced down at the paper once more, the decorative writing sprawled over the paper to one word.

  
_Remember?_


	3. Clarity and Confusion

Scotty opened his mouth to speak, but his words were caught in his throat. His eyes scanned his friends around him and nervously wrung his fingers. His shoulders were tense and panic was flickering in his eyes as he glanced around the room. He racked his brain trying to find a way to speak. There was _still_ something crushing his stomach, tempting him to hunch over the sink again, but he stopped himself. Scotty knew he'd  _have_ to put his thoughts into words and share them with his friends sooner or later, but nothing seemed to come together. Luckily, Jonathan stumbled into the room with the rest of the crew behind him.

Jonathan’s eyes were exhausted, almost dead looking. Dark circles surrounded his eyes and his mouth was pressed in a clean line. With one glance at Scotty, Jonathan sighed and fell into a kitchen chair, motioning for him to do that same. Scotty snapped out of his daze and sat beside him. He placed his head into his hands as Jonathan began to speak, as he began to _explain_.

“ _Mafia_ ,” he spoke with a rough voice. His words were rough and dry, he paused to find the words to explain. “They’re back. _Morello_ and his fucking friends—fuck... I _thought_ they were gone from here for good. _But_ they’re back and they’ve never really liked a competition.” Jonathan’s words died off to a whisper at the end. He eyes focused on the titles on the ceiling, flickering around above, almost as if they were searching for an answer he didn’t have. He raised his arms in defeat and dug his palms into his eyes harshly. “What I don’t understand is _why_ —I don’t get why they’re _back_.”

Scotty sipped water from his mug, emptily staring at the cracks in the table. He tore his eyes from the split and scanned his friend’s faces. Each and every one was twisted into confusion. They all exchanged glances, searching for some clarity in all the chaos. With a defeated sigh, Scotty spoke, “Jonathan was—I was— _shit_.” Scotty bit his tongue hard and let out a long breath. “We were… _with them_ before this gang. We didn’t see each other too much, not till the _end_ anyways. I don’t know how Jonathan became involved, but they got me right after I turned sixteen. My family was poor and sent me into this damned city for _new opportunity_ or something. Anyways, Morello offered me money, a lot of it, just to write simple little notes and pack them. I wasn’t even finished with school— _god—_ I was _so stupid_.”

Scotty scrunched his eyes shut, “I agreed as long as they could send some of it back to my mom and dad. I worked there part time as I finished school, _thinking_ that I had just won the world. All I had to do in return was to be quiet about it. After I graduated, I was working there day and night. I began to place the pieces together once I saw more of the place. Random bloodstains here and there, guns and knives and weapons I didn’t _know_ , the slightly vague _threats_ I was writing. It didn’t hit me until I was twenty, then I figured it all out. I saw a bloody man being dragged by my doorway once in the early morning and I freaked. It hit me like a damn train. I asked Morello and next thing you know, I’m being trained with unregistered guns.”

Scotty’s voice cracked, but no tears were brought to his eyes. The strain on his voice was clear, and Jonathan had removed his hands from his eyes to watch him carefully. Finally, he stepped in again to spare Scotty the pain, “Yeah, they got me in the same way—just after junior high. But they skipped that fancy writing shit, sent me straight to the scenes. Told me I was cleaning up “art accidents”, didn’t take me _one second_ when I got there to know it wasn’t paint that was spilled. I was trying to pay for my Ma and her hospital bills. Didn’t have to pay for them too long though, she passed barely a year after they grabbed me. I still don’t know if she died from whatever was killing her, or if it was Morello.”

His words shakily died off. His accent was more prominent, richer than usual. Jonathan pinched the bridge of his nose, and sucked in a deep breath before continuing. “I saw Scotty around every once in awhile, but the most I think we ever talked was when he asked me how to spell ‘incorruptibility’, and I’m pretty sure I told him the wrong spelling. The “Big Morello Mafia Bust”, the one that covered the newspapers for months, it brought us together. Everybody disappeared, either killed because they knew too much, or they escaped to other parts of the country. I didn’t have a plan; I didn’t have a finished education. I found Scotty curled up in an alley a few days after, lookin’ starved, beaten, and _lost_ as all hell. I patched him up, and we combined whatever funds we could muster up to rent a shitty apartment at the edge of the city. We just worked from there. Then we heard of some dumbasses taking out the corrupted assholes who worked with Morello, so we hunted them down to join the cause. Lo and behold, our favourite dickhead, _Evan_ , took us under his wing and let us into his gang. Ya'll  _know_ the rest.”

Jonathan looked winded, swaying slightly from side to side in his seat. Cautiously, Jonathan glanced at Evan, trying find a scrap of emotion or thought. They all knew he and Scotty were a part of a bigger gang before but they never specified _who_. Jonathan waited for Evan to spit the words he _dreaded_ to hear, waited to be crushed beneath the foot of another once again. But Evan just stared back.

“ _So_ , let me get this straight. You and Scotty were a part of the Mafia, whose Godfather was _Morello_ , and then were left alone after the bust a couple years back. Scotty wrote the notes in the bullets like the one we found in Marcel, and _you_ were a part of the clean up crew. Then, you found out about us killing off the rest of the gang and joined. They want you both dead, and by extension, the rest of us,” Evan spoke calmly but there was a hint of confusion in his voice. Jonathan tore his eyes away and found a new interest in the texture of his socks. He slowly nodded, as if he was ashamed of his past. “Have they tried to contact you in any way?”

“No, not _me_ at least.” Jonathan spoke breathlessly, eyes fixated back on the way his fingers were laced together. Scotty just shook his head in agreement and turned his gaze back to the tiles on the floor.

“Okay… _okay_ ,” Evan shook his head and took a deep breath, trying to clear his cluttered mind. “Right, so now Morello’s Mafia buddies are trying to _kill_ us. _Alright_.” Evan sounded more like he was trying to convince himself rather than clarify the situation for the rest of them. He brought two fingers to his temple and began to massage it. “I need time to think of a plan, to _think_ of what to do. I _can’t_ do this right now, I’m going to sleep on it.”

Jonathan placed his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. A deep sigh escaped his lips, trickling between his fingers. Evan placed a hand on his shoulder spoke gently, “Come on now, let’s go.” Curiously, Jonathan looked into Evan’s eyes, looking for any hint of resentment or hate. They had just admitted to practically being traitors after all.

“Wait, like, _together_? You’re not throwing us?”

“ _Of course_ not, now let’s go. I wanna sleep,” Evan turned to the rest of them, “You all should too. We have a _big_ day tomorrow.” Jonathan lips twitched into a small, grateful smile but it quickly faded as soon as it came. He nodded and followed Evan out the front door, bidding them a farewell. The others glanced at each other nervously, clearly not being sure what to do. Brian was the first the just shrug and usher Brock out of the front door, but it seemed that it snapped everyone out of their confused daze. Nogla nudged Lui as they headed out, trailing closely after Mini and Tyler. But before he reached the door, Nogla clasped a hand tightly on his shoulder, looking Scotty in the eye, searching if he was okay or not. Seemingly understanding his concern, Scotty offered a strained smile and nodded him to the door. With quiet words, they bid their farewell leaving an exhausted Scotty and Marcel to find their own solace in sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fuck I updated. 
> 
>  
> 
> Ha, I made a pathetic Vanoss/owl pun in there. I know, I've disappointed you all :)


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